A Walk To Remember
by SiriusHorcrux1018
Summary: [Dean/OC] He was the popular jock, the resident troublemaker. She was the shy girl, who kept to herself. But when love is involved, sometimes you just need to have some faith, take that leap and make it a walk to remember.
1. Chapter 1

**I know, I know. I shouldn't be starting a new story. Instead, I should be working on **_**Faithfully**_**. Which I am, slowly. I actually hit kind of a writer's block in **_**how **_**I want to continue, so until I figure that out, I wanted to try my hand at this one.**

**I don't own the characters of the show (with the exception of anyone who you don't recognize), but I do own this plot bunny. Sort of. It's heavily inspired by Nicholas Spark's **_**A Walk To Remember **_**and is AU to a point. I am trying and keep it as canon as I can (for example, I know Adam is much younger than Dean, for story purposes, I'm aging him a bit) but it will pretty much follow the movie plot line (which is more modern than the novelization). Of course, with that being said, I am happy to take suggestions and include them into the story.**

**Please review, also! They make me happy and inspire me to write.**

**Chapter One**

The music blasted from the speakers of the old 1967 Chevy Impala as 18-year old Dean Winchester steered the car along the old road, leading the way to their destination. Beside him, riding shotgun, was his 14-year old brother, Sam, who's thin and lanky body was tense, his hazel eyes watching the speeding scenery.

"Dean, where are we going?" Sam finally questioned, after several long and quiet minutes, with nothing but some good ol' AC/DC as background music.

Dean's own green eyes slid from the road in front of him to his kid brother, and he offered up an easy grin. "You'll see, Sammy."

"Why'd we leave the dance, though?" Sam asked, peering up at his older brother beneath the shaggy brown hair that hung in front of his eyes. "What are we doing?"

"Sam," Dean started, reaching over to nudge the kid in the chest gently with the back of his hand. "Relax. We're just going to go hang out with some of our friends for a bit, and then go home."

That was the truth, or as much of it as Dean was willing to tell Sam at the time. If Sam knew where they were going, and what Dean was about to do, Sam would whine and complain until Dean gave him what he wanted, or huff and pout when he didn't. They had both been at the school's Annual Winter Dance, hanging out with their own respective group of friends, when Christian Campbell, a friend of Dean's, casually tossed out the idea of leaving early. Dean, all for any fun that wasn't taking place in a school gymnasium and being _chaperoned_ (he was, after all, 18 years old and could take care of himself, and had for many years, thank you very much), had excused himself to go find his little brother and drag him along. Under normal circumstances, he would tell Sam to wait until their dad came to pick them up, but John was out of town for work, and Sam was Dean's responsibility. Therefore, that meant dragging the kid brother along.

Finding Sam by the refreshment table, getting himself some of the cheap, tasteless punch that always seemed to be served, he had instructed Sam to go say his goodbyes to his friends, and that they were leaving early. Sam hadn't delved into too many questions at the time, but followed his brother's instructions anyways.

Pulling to a stop in front of an old cement factory, Dean cut the engine. "C'mon, Sammy. Time to go."

Sam gave his older brother another uneasy look, but got out of the car anyways, slamming the passenger door closed behind him. Standing beside the passanger side door, he watched Dean walk around the hood to stop beside him, before looking away and studying their surroundings.

The old cement factory in front of them, maybe thirty or fourty feet ahead, looked about as abandoned as one would think. Tall towers loomed underneath the dark and starless sky, metal passageways and ladders attached to the sides of the towers, connecting the towers in a web of cold metal. To the east of the towers stood a tall and thick block, rows of dark windows lining the top, the building, too, made of cement. It was quiet, too quiet for Sam's liking.

As the Winchester brothers waited beside the Impala, two additional cars pulled up beside them. A cherry red Jeep and a rusty Dodge Charger, this one blue. Out of the Jeep climbed out two girls, with another three freeing themselves from the Charger.

"Winchester!" a tall, dark haired boy greeted. Standing at 6-feet, the boy standing opposite Dean had dark hair combed back, his hair shiny with gel to keep it in place. His jaw was rough with days-old stubble, eyes dark,. Clapping Dean's hand with his own, he pulled Dean in for a quick 'bro hug', as he referred to them by, before looking down at Sam. Sam fought the urge to shuffle behind his older brother and hide. "What's with the kid?"

"Dad's out of town, so I brought Sam with me." Dean explained simply, motioning in Sam's direction with his head. "He's a good kid. Won't get in the way, Christian."

Christian smirked, and nodded in approval before turning his attention to the others.

"Okay, boys and girls. Let's get started!" He clapped his hands gleefully. "Milligan!"

Sam watched another boy, maybe a year or two younger than Dean he guesstimated, step forward, running a hand through sandy-blonde hair. "Adam."

"Huh?"

"It's Adam." the boy clarified his name.

Christian rolled his eyes before grinning. Moving on from the topic of names, he pointed across the way to the old factory, motioning to one of the numerous metal catwalks. This one, he was pointing to, ended abruptly over a large pool of water. If Sam had to guess, it had to be at _least_ a 60 foot drop from the catwalk to the surface of the water.

"Okay, here's the deal. You're gonna jump from up there, into the water." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them in excitement. "Then you're one of us. Okay?"

Adam eyed the balcony and subsequent drop carefully, obviously weighing the risks and outcomes in his head before responding. "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He confirmed with another nod of his head.

Christian let out a wide, toothy grin and reached over, swinging an arm around Dean's neck and squeezing tightly. "Alright, alright! Let's do this!"

Adam still looked a bit unsure, nervous, but began stripping down to his boxers. Dean chuckled and loosened Christian's hold on him before beginning to strip down to his own boxers. Bundling up his own flannel shirt and jeans, he handed them to a very confused looking Sam. "Hey, it's cake, man. I'm jumpin' with ya."

Upon hearing that, Sam's eyes widened and he shifted the clothes in his arms so he could reach over and grab his older brother with one hand. "Dean, you _can't_! You're gonna get hurt!"

Christian snickered, clearly finding the whiny protest amusing. Adam chose to remain quiet, still eyeing the catwalk. Dean ignored the laughs and squatted down to meet Sam's short stature. While, sure, it was a bit embarrassing to have his kid brother pull the concern card, Sam was still his brother and Dean felt an urge to snuff Sam's fears before they grew.

"Sammy, it's cool. I'll be fine." Dean reassured him, ruffling the kid's hair. "Stay here and don't lose my clothes."

Standing up, and giving a look to his brother that the discussion was over, he waved and led Adam the rest of the way to a ladder that would lead up to the catwalk. The metal rungs were cool beneath his hands and feet, and Dean didn't want to think about how cold the water was going to be. North Carolina may have been a warm climate, but it could and did get chilly during the winter months.

"How deep is this?" he heard Adam question as they headed along the length of the catwalk. The metal was still cool beneath Dean's feet, if not a bit cooler than the rungs had been. Stopping only a couple feet from the edge, he grinned at the blonde and shrugged casually, as if what they were about to do was nothing more than jumping off a diving board.

"I don't know. Let's find out."

Dean watched Adam swallow, his Adam's apple bob before taking his own turn to look over the edge. The water below him was dark, still, and almost solid looking. His vision swayed for just a brief moment and Dean had to blink hard. Sure, he let himself come off as macho and tough, but 60 feet was still 60 feet. 60 feet was still a long way down. As nervous as he was, he _couldn't_ and _wouldn't_ let Adam see him be nervous. That would ruin his tough guy act.

On the other side of the water, he could make out Sam standing between the girls, hugging the jeans and flannel to him like it was a lifeline. Like if he didn't, Dean wouldn't survive the jump.

Meg Masters, a blonde with a pixie cut, stood on one side of Sam, hands on her denim-clad hips. While he couldn't see her facial expression, Dean was sure Meg had a shit-eating grin on her face and was more game for this jump than anyone.

The second girl, Cassie Robinson, flanked Sam's other side. Her wild and dark brown curly hair had been left loose, the wind lightly blowing it over her shoulders. Her own arms were crossed over her chest in a self-hug. Beside Cassie, stood Christian, and on his left stood Gordon Walker, a dark-skinned boy, jaw rough with the beginnings of a beard. Both boys were cheering loudly, fist-pumping the night sky.

"C'mon, you babies! JUMP!"

"Do it! Do it! Do it!"

Dean could make out the loud cheers, and slid on a crooked grin. He wasn't surprised he couldn't hear Sam protesting. The kid knew that the topic wasn't up for discussion anymore, and that Dean wouldn't listen anyways. When Dean had his mind made up, it would be impossible to reverse the decision.

"Ready, Milligan?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. On three." Dean instructed, backing up so they could take the jump at a run. "One."

"Two."

"Thr-!"

Before the word had completely left his mouth, he watched Adam rush forward, jumping far out as his feet left the metal, and suddenly plunge when he lost momentum.

Adam fell through the air, a strangled yell ripping from his throat as he rushed towards the water. Later, Dean would remember it had taken only 7 seconds before Adam hit the water with a loud, and very harsh sounding _splash. _7 very long, very tense seconds.

The teenagers, with the exception of Sam, all cheered loudly.

"Dude, that must've _hurt!_" Christian commented, snickering.

"Bud's gonna be sore for _days!_" piped up Meg, dark brown eyes glinting with amusement.

Dean's own green eyes widened as he leant over the edge, breath hitched as he waited for the boy to resurface. When Adam didn't immediately do so, the cheers quieted down.

"Adam?" Cassie called towards the water, the beginning of panic lacing her voice. After a moment, his body broke the dark surface of the water. Unmoving.

"_Dean!_" Sam suddenly screeched to his big brother. "_Help him!_"

Dean had frozen, seeing the boy's unmoving body in the cold water. Eyes widened in sheer horror. Oh, _shit_. What had they done?!

His little brother's yelling reached Dean's ears, kicking his butt into gear. As quickly as he could, Dean raced back down the length of the catwalk in the direction of the ladder. Gripping the rungs, which suddenly felt so much colder than they did a minute ago, Dean quickly climbed back down. Taking four strides away from the ladder, Dean dove into the water, yelling out a loud _"FUCK!"_ as the coldness swept over him, settling into his bones.

Front stroking his way over to the unconscious boy, Dean gathered Adam up in his arms and kicked, trying to keep afloat. Adam's eyes were closed, sandy-blonde hair and blood coating the left side of his face from a large cut above his eyebrow.

"Adam? _Adam!_" he boomed as he shook the body, trying to get the unconscious boy to just _wake the hell up_. He could feel his chest tighten in panic as he continued shaking the body, quickly deciding he needed to get them out of the water. Wrapping his arms around Adam's waist, Dean moved to lay on his back and kick his legs as hard as he could to the side that the group was at. Dragging Adam with him, he used the panic cries as motivation.

_Just... a bit... further_, he told himself, panting hard. His legs were already starting to burn, his arms tired from dragging a kid who probably weighed just as much as he did.

Finally reaching it, he hollered for Christian and Gordon to come and help him. Grabbing Adam underneath the arms, Christian yanked him from the water, dragging him along the concrete. Finally stopping, he laid Adam down, kneeling down beside him. All traces of amusement that had been there earlier were gone, panic and frustration evident.

"Milligan! Wake up!"

Taking hold of Gordan's hand, Dean scrambled up and out of the water, rushing over to help. Looking over at Sam, he pointed at his brother, who was clearly on the verge of panicing himself. Hazel eyes were filled with tears, and Sam was bouncing in his place between the girls, still hugging Dean's clothes tightly to him. "Sammy, stay there!"

"_Dean!_"

"_Stay there!_"

All of the commotion and chaos kicked into over-drive when a new and heavy voice boomed. _"HEY!"_

The three teenage boys leaning over the unconscious Adam snapped their heads up and over to the voice. Right now, the newcomer - a security guard - was on the other side of the concrete sidewalk, but within minutes would be in reach of the teenagers. If they were caught, they were _all_ going to be in major trouble of all sorts. Dean wasn't about to let that happen, _especially_ not to a kid like Sam who shouldn't have even been there in the first place. God, he was a horrible brother...

"Oh, shit."

"_Go!_" Dean ordered, pushing at Christian's shoulder. "Go on, get out of here!"

Christian and Gordon didn't need to be told twice. They both shot to their feet and began darting over to the cars.

"_Dean! No!_"

"Cassie, take Sam and go! _Now!_" Dean roared to the dark skinned girl, watching her hesitate for only a second before nodding. Grabbing hold of Sam by his shoulder, she dragged the small teenager to her Jeep. Opening the back door, she pushed Sam in (a bit harsher than she meant to), despite his screechy protests and struggling before slamming the door closed and hopping in the driver's side. Meg quickly joined her in the front seat.

Looking back to the injured boy, Dean shook him again, urging and pleading for him to wake up. At least Adam was breathing. Unconscious, but breathing. That was a good sign.

Between the security guard's yells to stay put, the police sirens, and the sound of tires screeching against the pavement, the commotion made Dean's head pound. he refused to accept that the beer he had been sneakily drinking at the dance with Christian, Gordon and the girls had anything to do it with it.

"I'm sorry, Adam." He apologized quietly before scrambling to his feet and leaving the injured boy where he was. There was nothing Dean would be able to do for him right now.

He paused for a brief second to eye where Sam had been standing only moments before with his clothes, hoping his brother had dropped them. Well, at least he was still wearing his boxers...

His bare feet pounded against the concrete as he ran back to where the Impala was parked, yanking open the door and sliding in behind the wheel. Thank god he had left the keys in the ignition. It was something he never did, ever. Leaving the keys in the ignition was like leaving out a bright neon sign, saying 'Come Steal My Car!', Dean often thought, but tonight was the one night he was glad he had forgotten to take them with him.

Quickly turning the keys, the Impala roared to life, headlights flashing on and _Highway To Hell_ by AC/DC blasting out of the speakers.

_How appropriate_, Dean surmised as he threw the car into Reverse slammed his foot on the gas and peeled out of his makeshift spot. Throwing the car into Drive as quickly as he could, he pounded the gas pedal. He just barely missed clipping one of the police squad cars with the Impala as they pulled into the parking lot in front of him.

Knowing that Sam must be terrified out of his mind, worrying about his big brother, Dean vowed that once he got out of this mess, he would make it up to Sam any way he could. He would apologize, bribe and treat the shit out of that kid, and then make Sam promise to never, _ever _speak of this night again. _Especially_ not to their father.

John Winchester was a tough man who didn't take anyone's bullshit, and this night would not be any different. Dean knew in his heart of hearts that if his Dad found about this night once he got back into town, there was nothing he would be able to say or do that could make this right. He would not accept Dean's excuse for why he was even at the old factory in the first place, and he sure as Hell would not be accepting of the fact that Dean had put Sam at risk too by dragging him along with him.

Sirens cut into Dean's thoughts and he hurriedly realizes the squad cars were only feet behind him. One had even pulled up beside him, the officer ordering Dean to pull over, and when it became evident that Dean had no intention, the squad car pulled up closer, and cut in front of the Impala. This forced Dean to yank the wheel to the left, jumping the curb of the old road leading back to town, and rumble as it drove along the grass beneath the dark, starless sky. The Impala suddenly came to a stop when it collided with some bushes lining the road. Dean shot forward in his seat, smacking his head against the steering wheel. Groaning, he sat back up and winced in pain, before wincing again as a bright light filled the inside of the car.

Squinting, he peered over to the light, holding his aching head with one hand. An older officer, probably around his dad's age (give or take a couple years) stood outside his door, the flashlight in his grasp. The man's dark eyes were narrowed, lips pursed together and turned down in a frown.

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Dean shut his eyes, looking away from the bright light. So, this was how his already shitty night was going to end. Great. Just fucking great.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and those who have added me to their alerts. That makes me happy to know that someone is interested! Short chapter this time around, but I really wanted to get it posted. Also, cookies to anyone who sees who is mentioned in this chapter and what their role is! Finally, looking to accept some suggestions/things to write about if you have them (in addition to what I've already planned)! I'd love to hear them!**

**Chapter 2**

Dean Winchester slouched down in the plush chair, taking care to not move too quickly lest he wanted yet another headache. Although, a headache from a concussion he had received when he face banged the steering wheel of his car was a small price to pay for making it out of the past weekend _alive_ and in one piece. That was more than he could say for Adam Milligan, who was currently in the hospital with three broken ribs, a busted leg, a concussion and a deep cut on his forehead that had required at least ten stitches.

When he had finally made it out of the town's precinct the morning after having used his one phone call to phone up Bobby Singer (an old family friend, and practically family to the Winchester boys), he had endured a very long ten minutes (which had felt much longer than it actually was) of angry scolding from Bobby. Which was almost worse. At least his father, John, would've yelled at him till he went red in the face and then it would be over. But Bobby didn't yell - he scolded and used the word "disappointed" whenever he ripped him or Sam a new one. He would even refuse to use "idjit", which had become something of a term of endearment to the boys. By all accounts, it felt worse than being yelled at to Dean, and made him feel even more horrible than he had before the lecture. If that was even possible.

To top it off, when he and Bobby had picked up Sam from Cassie's house, where he had spent the night, they had driven back to the Winchesters', a small but cozy bungalow nestled underneath a thick tree not too far from the downtown core. In complete silence. Thick, heavy silence that could be sliced with a knife, if Dean had a knife. It wasn't until the boys had said their goodbyes and went inside, letting Bobby get back to the junkyard he operated, did things finally blow up. At least from Sam, anyways.

Before Dean could even say a word, his 14-year old brother suddenly turned on him, yelling and screaming (much like his dad would, Dean thought) about how stupid Dean had been and how could he think about doing what he had done? Then, his kid brother's face had crumpled, tears had set in and Sam's anger had turned to sadness at the thought that Dean could be in Adam's place, if not _worse_. And all Dean could do was grab his brother in a tight hug, and apologize over and over for being an idiot, and that he was sorry, _so sorry,_ for being stupid. That the jump was meant to be a joke.

Sam hadn't said anything to that, but just hugged Dean back before leaving to go hide in his room. They had spent the weekend separate, and Dean could tell Sam was still angry with him. Which was fine. Truth be told, Dean was angry with himself for even putting Sam in that position.

Now, Monday morning, Dean found himself sitting in the principal's office. Ready for yet another round of scolding and punishment. He watched as Principal Jones, an older man with dark eyes and thinning blonde hair and a deep frown etched on his aging face, set out two empty beer bottles on the top of the wooden desk. Followed by another two. And another two. Six beers all together.

Dean kept his face as blank as he could, and looked up at Jones.

"Mister Winchester, you do know why you're sitting here right now, correct?"

Of course, he knew why. Hell, everyone in small town Beaumont knew what had happened the past weekend by now.

When he didn't answer, Jones continued. If it was possible, the frown deepened, his bushy brows furrowing. "Drinking on school grounds is prohibited, Mister Winchester. But you know that, too." He paused for a brief moment to fold his hands together, resting them on the desk. Leaning forwards on his elbows, the elder man peered at his student.

"I understand your father is out of town on business, and has been for a few days now. So I've discussed your punishment with your next of kin."

Dean snorted, and finally let out a smart comment that had been itching to be said. "Sam? You let my little brother decide my punishment?"

"No, Dean." Jones replied with a shake of his head. "Your records show Bobby Singer is your emergency contact, and next of kin in situations where a parent can't be reached."

_Shit._

Dean finally sat up straighter, trying not to let this new information get to him. But _shit._ He didn't even want to _know_ what Bobby had planned for him. It was already bad enough that the old man was _disappointed_ in him. Hundreds of different scenarios went through his head, all equally as unpleasant as they would all be things he wouldn't want to do. Everything from doing manual labour to charity work to doing whatever else Bobby could think up ran through his head.

"Now, Bobby's talked with Sheriff Mills and got her to agree to hold off on pressing charges against you for the stunt you pulled at the cement factory."

Okay, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe this would be better than he thought.

"On one condition, though." Jones said, quirking his own brows as Dean's face went from looking worried to relieved.

Oh, of course there would be conditions. Dean tried to stop the groan that rose from his throat, but couldn't. "What conditions?"

Unfolding his hands, Jones reached down beside him to grasp a silver drawer handle and pull it open. Reaching into the drawer, he thumbed through files, finally pulling out a white manila folder with Dean's name stamped on the tab. Flipping it open, he pulled out a few sheets of paper, and read from them aloud.

"Your punishment will include the following: you'll be required to help tutor children from our neighbouring town, Greensboro, on Saturdays for the next three months. After school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, you'll report to Janitor Speight and help him with chores around the school. Mopping, washing windows, sweeping. Whatever he needs done, you'll do it." Jones' eyes flicked up to make sure that Dean had been paying attention before they returned back to the paper. "Finally, you are to report to Miss Bradbury after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays for rehearsals, as you'll be participating in our Spring Play."

"_What?_ You're joking, right?" Dean questioned in disbelief. These were exactly the things he _didn't_ want to do. He was no drama nerd. Damnit, Bobby...

Principal Jones re-folded his hands on top of Dean's file, after replacing the papers. "This is not a joke, Dean. You're to follow through on these requirements. One slip up, just one, and Sheriff Mills will be knocking on your front door."

Dean let out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. So much for it not being so bad. "Okay, fine." He agreed reluctantly. At least he could avoid being charged with the slew of things he had done. Breaking and Entering, reckless driving... "Can I go yet?"

"Dean." Jones stated firmly, causing the teenager to open his eyes and peer back at his principal. Just by his tone alone, Dean knew the lecture wasn't over yet. "You have a little brother, who looks up to you. You _need_ to start making better decisions. Otherwise, Sam is going to go down the same path you're on."

Dean bit his tongue, choosing to ignore that argument. He _knew_ Sam looked up to him - Sam had told him as much time and time again. But Sam was also a smarter kid than he was. Sam wouldn't do that. This, Dean was sure of.

"This'll be good for you, Dean." Standing up, Jones moved to the door of his office and opened it. Motioning with his hand that Dean was free to leave, he added as the teenager climbed to his feet. "Now, get to class."

Shouldering his backpack, Dean left the office. Hanging a right, he headed down the hallway to his first period of the day, responding to calls of "Hey, Dean!" from classmates or friends with a quick wave. Today was going to be a long day...

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much, everyone, for your wonderful reviews and follows and favourites! You don't understand how happy it makes me and how excited I get when I check my email and I get these alerts. After not writing for **_**years**_**, it's good to see that I'm still kind of good at it, haha.**

**Chapter 3**

"Dean Winchester. Bad boy extraordinaire!"

Dean snorted amusedly as he grabbed hold of Gordon Walker's hand, and pulled him in for a Bro Hug, clapping the other man on the back a couple times.

"How much trouble did you get into?" Meg Masters asked, dark eyes sweeping over Dean's form. Her lips twitched into her famous shit-eating grin, as she flicked blonde bangs out of her eyes.

"Ehh, not as much as it could've been." Dean waved it off, dropping his backpack to the grass as he joined his friends beneath the large oak tree on the school grounds. Taking a seat, he leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes contently. He had one more period left before he had to report to Janitor Speight, and he was going to use his current Study Hall period to relax.

"So, no charges?"

That was Cassie, who worried her lower lip with her teeth.

"Nope. But that doesn't mean I got off scot-free either." Dean cracked an eye open, and peered at the girl. "Thanks again. For taking Sam with you."

The girl nodded, letting a small smile play against her dark skin. "Of course."

The group settled into their own conversations as the period went on, with Christian and Gordon pulling out a football and tossing it back and forth between them.

On his third toss, Gordon wound his arm back with the ball in one hand and whipped it forward, letting the ball fly from his fingers. However, he missed his target and the ball flew past the Christian, eventually hitting the grass and bouncing a couple times before coming to a stop.

The conversation between the girls came to a lull, and with the lack of sound, Dean opened both eyes and sat up, trying to figure out what the cause was for sudden silence.

Standing beside the ball was 17-year old, Jamie Marsden.

Standing at 5-foot-5, the girl had her long, brown hair tied back into a simple ponytail. Setting the cardboard box that she had been carrying in her arms onto the grass, she bent down and picked up the ball in both hands. Then, she walked over and handed it to Gordon.

"Here," was her only response, her voice light and airy.

_A happy sound_, Dean thought.

Gordon took it back with wide eyes, as if she had just handed him a live grenade. Dean snorted in response, finding amusement with the whole thing. Couldn't have just tossed it back, no. She _actually_ walked over and handed the thing to him.

She stood in front of Gordon for a moment, obviously waiting for a 'Thank You', or something of that equivalent. When she didn't receive one, the girl simply turned on her heel and walked back to retrieve the cardboard box. Picking it back up, she continued on her way, past the group. She stopped for a second time when Meg offered her a smirk and nodded at the girl.

"You sure have style, Jamie. Nice sweater."

Jamie's green eyes swept down to look at the purple cable knit button up she was wearing over a long floral dress that ended just above the ankles. Looking back up at the blonde, her pink lips twitched upwards into a small smile, oblivious to the sarcasm.

"Thank you," she replied sincerely before continuing her walk into the school entrance. Once she was by them, Christian crinkled his face up into a mock grin and mimicked the response in a high-pitched tone.

"_Thank you_,"

The group erupted into laughter, Dean himself having to chuckle. How could someone be so oblivious to that sweater comment? Meg was a pro at making people _know _she either liked them or she didn't. She could dish out backhanded compliments like the best of them, and made it known when she did it that she really didn't mean whatever she had just said. Most people would frown, or glare, and say something back nasty.

Jamie, on the other hand, had taken the comment as a positive and had genuinely thanked Meg too.

_What a weird chick_.

The bell rung, cutting into Dean's thoughts and he groaned, forcing himself to get up. As much as he wanted to cut his last class - History, of all things - he couldn't risk it. One slip up and he was going to be having a date with Sheriff Mills. As much as he loved women, Sheriff Mills was not a lady he wanted to see anytime soon.

"Coming to play some B-ball after school, Winchester?" Christian asked, as he offered a hand to Dean, and hauled him to his feet.

"Can't." Dean shook his head and shouldered his backpack. "I have to go meet Speight after."

"The janitor?"

Dean rolled his eyes as Gordon and Meg howled with laughter. "Yeah. Part of a deal I made to avoid charges."

Christian, himself, laughed. "What else are they making you do?"

Dean was silent for a long minute, debating about sharing his deal before caving. "Tutoring in Greensboro and the Spring Play."

If anything, Gordon and Meg's laughter grew louder while Christian and Cassie smirked in amusement.

"Oh, that is _beautiful_." Christian teased, leading the way back inside. "Them kids are in trouble."

"Ha ha. Jackass."

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><p>"Dean-o." Janitor Speight greeted with a bright grin, as he stood in front of the janitor's closet on the second floor of Beaumont High. In his hand, he held a mop, with a bucket of water in the other before handing them to the teenager. "Happy Birthday."<p>

Dean bit back the annoyed grunt that threatened to leave his mouth as he eyed the man in front of him. Probably mid-thirties if he had to guess, Janitor Speight had wavy brown hair, dark eyes and his thin lips always seemed to be grinning (if judging by the amount of times Dean had seen him around school was anything to go by). Which kind of made Dean hate him more already. He never understood the kind of people who were always so _happy_. Acting like they had never had a sad day in their lives.

Reluctantly, he took the mop and bucket, choosing to ignore the Birthday comment. "What am I doing with this, Mister Speight?"

"Gabriel." He corrected, pulling a bright red lollipop out of his pocket. Unwrapping it, he popped it in his mouth. "You've never used a mop before?"

It was _so_ _hard_ to not be a smart ass right now. Silently, Dean cursed Bobby too, for signing him up for this gig. Right now, possible jail time was looking pretty good.

Dean really couldn't stop the eye rolling though. "I mean, what am I mopping?"

Gabriel chuckled and pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, holding it between his index and middle fingers as he answered. "You're gonna mop the gym. Then, you're gonna mop the Athletic Hallway too."

The gym was probably one of the largest rooms in the whole school, and the Athletic Hallway was a long one too, stretching down half the length of the south side of school until it ended at the cafeteria doors. That was probably going to take Dean a good chunk of the two hours he was expected to be here. He thanked his lucky stars that Sam was enough of a geek that staying at the public library until 5pm or so would be entertainment for the kid.

With a mutter of 'Thanks', he took the mop and bucket and pushed it down the hallway to get started.

* * *

><p>That was how Dean's next week went. Mostly mopping or sweeping school classrooms or hallways for Gabriel (Oh, and how he could forget about that <em>lovely<em> gum-scrapping incident where a piece of already-chewed dry gum fell off the underside of a desk and into his own mouth?), and drama rehearsals after school with Miss Charlie Bradbury.

A funny woman with a love for pop culture (judging by the three references she had made within five minutes of starting rehearsals) and bright red hair, Dean had immediately liked her. Maybe, just maybe, this drama thing wouldn't be that bad.

On Friday, the day before a well deserved weekend (until Dean remembered he had to get up, climb on a bus and drive forty minutes to Greensboro to tutor on a Saturday morning), he was sitting in the drama room in a circle with at least ten other students, all of different grades. Most of them, if not all, were here for fun, or to get those extra credits that universities liked seeing on student transcripts so much. Dean, himself, was the only one there not by choice, he had learned.

The drama room was large enough to accommodate the club, with high ceilings. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, which went well with Charlie Bradbury's personality. Instead of the hard plastic chairs in other classrooms, Dean noticed that an assortment of bar stools, bean bag chairs and padded benches littered the classroom, in addition to the cupboards lining the walls. Theatre props were most likely kept inside.

"Alright, guys! This year's spring musical is a story about burning passion and blazing Tommy guns! Written by our own Tommy Collins. Words and music by Jamie Marsden." Charlie explained excitedly as they finally began that day's session, once scripts had been handed out. "It tells the story of Tommy "The Gun" Thornton in Prohibition-era New York."

Pointing to each person in turn, Charlie cast the students and congratulating them as she went. "Finally, Jamie will be our Alicia, a mysterious night club singer. And Dean will read for Tommy Thornton." Scratch that. The drama thing was going to be that bad.

The blonde snapped his head up, his brows quirking in confusion. "...Huh?"

Charlie beamed at her student. "You'll be my main man, Dean. You'll be our Tommy."

Dean's eyes widened, unable to believe what she was telling him. "No. No. See, I didn't plan on acting or anything."

"Well, you can plan on it now, because you are."

"But-"

"Let's start!" Charlie clapped her hands together, signaling to Dean that the discussion was over and not up for debate any longer. Selecting a scene, Charlie instructed her actors to begin, and they began reading lines, Dean albeit reluctantly.

"... Baby, you don't... want to fall in love..." Dean read, his voice stiff and awkward. "...with a guy like me,"

Sitting a couple seats away, a sophomore named Madison lifted her eyes from her own script. Having been selected to play a flapper named Charlene, she was the lucky individual to play a possible love interest for the Tommy character.

"It's too late. I'm crazy about you." She pushed a lock of dark brown hair over her shoulder as she continued to read. "I'm breathing it, drinking it all in." A pause. "Aren't you?"

Dean breathed out another nervous smirk, glancing up at his supposed love interest. Who was staring back at him with a frown, obviously unimpressed with Dean's 'acting'. "I don't know what I'm drinking... doll face..." Eyes flicked down to the page again, trying and failing to take comfort in the words before him. "But if this is love... pour me another glass."

The drama room was silent as the scene ended. Dean shifted in his seat again, choosing to avoid the looks of the other students. Most of them wore looks of frustration, or annoyance, and a small part of Dean actually felt bad. They were here for fun, or the play was something they took seriously. Dean was here to avoid getting arrested, and couldn't act worth a damn. On the other hand, drama teacher Charlie Bradbury had cast him, so... it wasn't entirely his fault.

"Dean," Charlie questioned, closing her copy of the script and eyeing him suspiciously. "Are you _trying _to be bad at this?"

"Um, nope." Dean answered, shaking his head. "Just comes naturally. I'm a regular Kristen Stewart."

Well, that answer earned him a few snickers from the other students. Charlie simply rolled her eyes (though Dean did catch a hint of amusement in her eyes at the reference) and clapped her hands together after dropping her script to her lap.

"Okay, that's all for today, guys. We'll pick it up next week. See you then,"

With that, the students began to gather up their belongings, chatting amongst themselves. Dean, however, couldn't wait to get home. Within minutes, he had yanked on his leather jacket, shouldered his cheap black backpack and hurried out of the room to his car. Once he was in his 'Baby', as he affectionately called the vehicle, he found he felt a bit better than he had a few minutes ago. Now, he was in his element. He was where he belonged. In his gorgeous Impala, with some old school rock blasting out of the speakers.

Throwing his car into Reverse, he backed out of the space and shifted into Drive, pulling out of the parking lot. He would pick up Sam from the library, make some dinner for the pair and call it an early night. He was exhausted.

* * *

><p>Review?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Still don't own anything or anyone (even though I wouldn't mind owning a certain green-eyed hunter... Maybe if I'm super good, I'll get him for my birthday?). Don't forget to review and if you have requests, PM me or let me know in your review! I'd LOVE to hear your suggestions, and hopefully add them in as filler chapters!**

**Chapter 4**

"Dean..."

Pause.

"Dean." A little louder this time.

A grunt of protest.

"_Dean!_"

A second grunt, as the man in question buried his face tiredly into his pillow, trying to block out the call from a certain brother. "Mnh. Go 'way, Sammy. 'S Saturday."

"Dude, you have to get up."

"No school," Dean countered, his voice laced with sleep as he lazily lifted a hand, and waved off the boy.

Sam huffed, his features twisting into a frown as he stood at his older brother's door. One hand gripped the white door frame, the other clutching the knob. "You have tutoring today, and you have to drop me off at Bobby's first."

Well, fuck. Dean dramatically groaned into his pillow, but made no effort to raise from the bed. Which earned himself another protest (which seemed to increase in volume) from his kid brother.

"Okay, okay. I'm up." Dean sighed in defeat, throwing off the blankets and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Finally cracking his eyes open, wincing at the bright sunlight flooding his bedroom, he shifted to squint at Sam. "What time is it?"

Sam consulted the cheap department store watch on his left wrist, shaggy bangs falling into his eyes. "Almost eight."

Lifting both hands, Dean scrubbed them over his face, before running them through his hair. "Okay, okay. Gimme ten minutes. We'll stop to pick up breakfast on the way."

Sam just nodded in agreement, leaving his older brother to get ready, while he went to check on his own backpack. Unzipping the canvas bag, he pulled out his textbooks and notebooks to sort through them. Tossing the ones he would need to complete his History report into his backpack, along with the appropriate notebook, Sam discarded the others to the coffee table for now.

While Sam was technically old enough to stay on his own while Dean was busy with his community service, and had even pointed that fact out to his brother, Dean had insisted otherwise.

"C'mon, Sam. If Dad found out I left you on your own, he'd rip me a new one." Dean had argued at first, until Sam had retorted with "Just like he would if he found out about your stunt?"

Immediately after it came tumbling out of his mouth, Sam felt like a jerk. Sure, he was still angry - furious, even - with Dean for the cement factory prank. He hadn't thought that his older brother - the guy he looked up to, the guy who was his _hero_, for Pete's sake - would've willingly been a party to that.

But, at the same time, Dean was still Sam's brother. Between community service, taking care of Sam whenever Dad was out of town (which was frequently), and trying to pass school in order to graduate in June, Dean had enough on his plate, and anger or not, Sam couldn't bring himself to add to it. Which is why Sam was agreeing to spend Saturdays at Bobby's, and heading to Beaumont's town library right after school where he would stay until Dean was done with janitorial duties or rehearsals.

"Okay, kid." Dean's voice cut into Sam's thoughts as he entered the room, swinging his car keys around his index finger. Pulling the big, brown leather jacket from the hall closet, Dean pulled it on. "Got everything you need for the day?"

"Yeah." Sam zipped closed the backpack, shouldering it. "When are you done again?"

"It's for a few hours. I'll be back in Beaumont around two o'clock." Dean replied, ushering Sam out the front door before locking it. Tossing his own backpack into the backseat of the Impala, Dean slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "And we'll go out to a movie or something tonight. My treat."

Of course it was Dean's treat. Those were the same words Dean had used all week when he had come home and surprised Sam with a trip to the Arcade one day, and ice cream (from that great little Ma & Pa ice cream shop on the edge of town - Sam's favourite place!) a day later. Sam didn't mind the special treatment. It wasn't often, or even like Dean to spoil Sam. But he had a sneaking suspicion of why, suddenly, Dean was so attentive. A part of him didn't like it.

"Sounds great." Sam just replied, buckling up.

As they pulled out of the drive way, making a quick stop at the local drive-thru diner to grab breakfast, Dean shifted his eyes over to his kid brother, drumming on the top of the wheel with his left thumb.

"You okay Sam?"

Sam just nodded before taking a bite of his egg and bacon sandwich.

"So why the long face? If you don't wanna catch a movie, we could do something else." Dean offered with a shrug. "Bowling, maybe?"

"It's not that. It's just..." Sam started, taking another bite of his sandwich as he figured out how to say what he wanted to. Finally, swallowing, he gazed over at Dean, who was busy shifting his attention between Sam and the road. "I know why you're treating me, Dean. You can stop."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Dean feigned confusion. He tried to ignore the truth he knew his brother was getting at. Damn Sam for being smart. Or, rather, damn himself for being obvious.

"You don't want me to say anything about the cement factory. It's okay. I won't, I promise."

Dean snorted, and tossed Sam a lopsided grin. "How do you know I just don't wanna spend time with my kid brother?"

Sam just gave Dean a deep frown, hazel eyes narrowed in annoyance as a response. The look that told Dean to give up the act, and just admit the truth. And whether it was because it was too early on a Saturday morning to argue with a really smart 14-year old, or because he knew Sam was too damn smart for his own good and wouldn't accept any other answer because it wasn't the truth, Dean found himself sighing and giving in.

"Okay, yeah, I'd rather have you _not _talk about the cement factory. In fact, I think it's something to add to the 'Do Not Talk About' list. _But_, I am trying to make it up to you, Sammy." Dean explained, forcing himself to pay attention to the road. It was easier to admit this when he wasn't looking his brother in the face. "I know you're mad with me. Trust me, I know. I get it. I'm pissed off at myself too. But I wanna make it up to you because I know I scared the hell out of you that night, and that wasn't right."

Dean hung a left, letting the steering wheel slide underneath his fingers to complete the turn, and quickly took a second left to pull into the driveway of the salvage yard. Parking, he cut the engine, twisting in his seat to look at Sam. "It wasn't fair to you. And I'm sorry."

Sam let Dean's words toss around in his head, running the apology through his mind. Even though part of him didn't like the reason behind Dean's attentiveness, another big part of Sam understood _why_ he was doing it. And Sam couldn't exactly hate Dean for that, because at the end of the day, if their positions were reversed... Sam would be doing the exact same thing.

With a quiet sigh, Sam nodded in acceptance and tossed the empty sandwich wrapper into the paper bag it had come in. "I get it."

Dean reached over, and affectionately ruffled Sam's hair. "Good."

Before the moment could become any more of a Chick Flick Moment (as Dean liked to refer to anything even remotely emotional), Dean thumbed in the direction of Sam's door. "Now, get out. I'm gonna be late."

That earned him a snort from the kid. "Okay. Later, Dean. Have fun."

"Oh yeah... it'll be a _joy_." He grumbled as Sam climbed out of the Impala, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Almost two hours later, Dean found himself sitting in a large classroom beside a 10-year old blonde haired kid who had grumpily introduced himself as Todd. Thumping the pencil against the old textbook, Dean bit back a sigh.<p>

Tutoring kids an hour away from Beaumont was not what he wanted to do on a Saturday. Tutoring a child named Todd, who was making it obvious every minute that went by that he didn't want Dean's help with his snarky answers or general refusal to answer any questions... it was _definitely_ not what he wanted to do on a Saturday.

Dean thumped his pencil against the old textbook, giving himself a moment before trying again. He honestly didn't get it. He did great with Sam when it came to helping the kid figure out a particularly hard math question. Which is what he and Todd were supposed to be working on.

Looking up, he noticed that Jamie Marsden was sitting at a desk with her own student across the room. She and her student were equally engrossed in whatever they seemed to be working on. The student, a young girl probably about the same age as Todd, listened with rapt attention as Jamie spoke. Dean noticed she tended to use her hands as she talked, raising each finger when she listed something off. While he wasn't close enough to actually hear what they were discussing comfortably, she obviously knew how to get someone to pay attention.

Dean kind of wished he was tutoring that kid instead of his current charge.

"Alright, kid." Dean pushed himself up a bit in his chair. "Let's try this again."

Pushing the math textbook in front of Toddy, and silently asking him to get rid of the basketball in front of him by doing so, Dean tapped the problem with the rubber end of his pencil. "We're looking for similar triangles, based on the angles. What do you think?"

He waited patiently as Todd eyed the problem with a glare. After a minute or two, Dean quirked his brows. "Todd? Which ones do you think are similar?"

"I think this is bullshit." Todd announced loudly, pushing his chair back from the desk roughly, and storming away to a corner with his basketball.

This left Dean to roll his eyes and slouch back in his chair. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groaned in frustration. "That makes two of us, bud."

It wasn't until he looked up a few moments later did he catch Jamie's gaze. Her charge actually looked surprised at the outburst, but Jamie simply offered Dean a sympathetic smile before breaking the eye contact and returning to her lesson.

* * *

><p>Pushing the ear buds in, Dean pulled out an old MP3 player he had swiped from Sam and turned it on. Selecting shuffle, Dean cranked up the volume as Metallica filled his ears. Normally one to hate portable music players (he had a whole collection of cassette tapes he'd rather use in his car), Dean had felt it was necessary to use one on the nearly hour-long bus to and from Greensboro.<p>

His 'Me Time' didn't last long. Not when the empty seat beside him was suddenly occupied by Jamie Marsden, who offered a friendly smile.

"Hi,"

Dean ignored her greeting, switching his attention to the boring scenery whipping by the windows as the bus sped down the road.

"Do you want to buy some raffle tickets?" She asked, tilting her head in thought. "I'm trying to raise money to buy Greensboro Elementary new computers."

Either Jamie was persistent or she wasn't aware that Dean didn't care and just wanted to be left alone. The universal sign, after all, was someone not removing the ear buds or shutting off their music. Since the girl was clearly not going to go away until she got an answer, and Dean's patience after the incredibly shitty week he'd had was at an all-time low, his answer was curt.

"No."

Dean had expected her to leave after that. Return to her seat, and leave him alone. He was wrong when he heard her voice again.

"I saw you in there with Todd. And I know it can be difficult... but maybe you should back into it from somewhere else,"

He refused to answer. Maybe if he didn't speak, she'd get the hint.

"Are you going to go visit Adam Milligan?"

After another silent beat, Dean felt Jamie shift awkwardly in her seat beside him. "That would be a no." A few seconds later, she spoke again. "They moved him from the hospital to a rehab place on Church Street."

_Damn it. _Clearly having enough, Dean yanked out the ear buds and snapped his attention to her. "Is this your idea of small talk or something, because if it is, your social skills need work. No one forced him to jump."

He watched her reach behind her to take hold of her ponytail, playing with the dark strands. "It's called Peer Pressure."

"How do you know that? You read it in your precious book?" Dean countered, bobbing his head in the direction of the bible that Jamie held in her hands.

The girl bit her lip, green eyes drifting away from Dean, who could swear he saw something in them. Embarassment? Hurt? He wasn't sure what, but there was _something _that flashed in them.

"Please don't pretend like you know me, okay?"

The request was made in a quiet, and much less cheerful tone than Jamie had been using only moments ago. Dean could hear a faint trace of hurt lace her voice, and normally, he wouldn't be such a douchebag. But right now, his patience was at an all time low, and when that happened, his mouth usually ran faster than his brain.

"But I do. I do." Dean smirked, unable to help himself.

Lifting a hand, he ticked off the facts that he had come to learn. He may have only been living in Beaumont for a couple years, but living in a small town meant you learned things about people quickly. "Why, you're Jamie Marsden. You sit at lunch table seven. It's not the reject table, but it's _definitely _self-exile territory. You have exactly one sweater. You look at your feet when you walk. And for fun, you tutor on the weekends."

Jamie was quiet as Dean ran his mouth, patiently waiting for the man to be done. Fingers still played with the dark hair, but her eyes were on his.

"Fairly predictable." She agreed, fingers still playing with the dark hair. "Anything else?"

Dean paused for a moment to run through the rest of his observations in his head. "Yeah."

Jamie simply quirked her thin brows in invitation to continue.

"You always wear your hair up in a ponytail. And you play with the end of it when you're nervous. Which is what you must be feeling right now, because you know I'm right."

The girl responded by pausing and letting go of the hair, pushing it back over her shoulder. "Fairly predictable." she repeated, licking her lips. "Nothing I haven't heard before."

Dean snorted, shaking his head for a minute. "So, what? You don't care what people think?"

This time, Jamie offered a shake of her own head. "No."

Without another word, she slid out of the seat beside Dean and returned to her own seat a few rows ahead.

* * *

><p><em>Review?<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I re-read this chapter, and replaced the one I originally posted Sunday, because I didn't like it as much. So what you're reading is a new, updated version. Enjoy and don't forget to review!**

**Chapter Five**

"Did you wanna come in?" Cassie asked, her tone light and casual. She was peering at Dean, brown eyes scanning over him, and into him. Trying to find out what his answer was before he verbally said it. "My parents aren't home. Won't be for a while."

Dean ran his tongue over his lips for just a brief moment. Having stopped at the local burger joint after returning to Beaumont that afternoon, Dean had only planned on grabbing a bacon cheeseburger for himself before heading to Bobby's to pick up Sam. Instead, he had come across his friends, who were busy shooting the shit on a lazy Saturday afternoon. In a town as small as Beaumont, a person would inevitably come across at least one person they knew each day, and unless you were planning on driving to Raleigh or Charlotte, the local burger joint was the place to be. Outfitted in a 1960's theme, it was complete with the black and white checkered flooring, disco balls, and an old jukebox filled with old songs.

As much as he loved Dale's, the burger joint, Dean hadn't been feeling like hanging out. Yet, he had stayed anyways, only for an hour though, and caught his friends up on his week. Gordon, in particular, had loved the idea of Dean's casting in the spring play, and had proceeded to throw on a Brooklyn accent and speak in it for the duration of the time Dean was there.

When it had come time to leave ("I really have to go pick up Sam," Dean had explained. "The kid's been shacked up with my Uncle Bobby all day. Probably driving the guy nuts."), Cassie had announced that she had to head out too, having an English essay to write. She had then asked Dean if he wouldn't mind giving her a ride home, and Dean had said sure.

Now, he was beginning to regret the decision.

"Come on, Cassie." Dean replied, shaking his head. "Nothing's changed."

'Nothing's changed' was Dean's way of telling Cassie that they were still over. She had been the one to dump him first, for some reason he couldn't even remember now. Though, it had something to do with his obligation to his father and Sammy (which had been an obligation since his mother's death when Dean was a little kid). He knew that much. The breakup had happened a couple months ago, and while Dean and Cassie had continued to hang out with each other (considering they had mutual friends), the thought of them getting back together had never been entertained. At least, not in Dean's mind. As far as he was concerned, Cassie had made it clear where they stood with each other that day in the park when she had told him she was tired of coming third in his life. He had actually been hurt, having believed he had loved her in some way, but he would never admit it. Not to anyone. So he had simply bit back the pain, brushed it off and said 'Okay'.

"Dean –"

"Cassie, you asked for a lift home. You're home now. I gotta go get Sammy."

Yup, Sam was and would continue to be his fallback excuse. Use him as an excuse when he needed or wanted to get out of those conversations that he never wanted to touch. Not with a ten-foot pole. Dean supposed he should feel some sort of guilt, but Cassie had dumped him cause of family obligations in the first place. Now, with her entertaining the idea of getting back together, or at least hooking up… Dean would happily use the breakup excuse.

Refusing to look at her, instead choosing to pay attention to one of her neighbours walking her tiny Chihuahua across the side walk, he heard Cassie let out a disgruntled breath, open the Impala's door and get out. She, of course, made sure to slam it closed behind her. It was only when she had her back turned, walking up the stone path to the front door of a pleasant-looking townhouse did Dean finally shift his gaze to her and give her backside a once over (Hey, they may be exes, but he still could still appreciate the view), only waiting until she was safely inside the house before pulling away.

* * *

><p>"How was tutoring?"<p>

"Hey to you, too, Sammy."

Sam offered his big brother a grin. "That bad, huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes, cursing his brother's ability to read Dean's thoughts or feelings based on how Dean responded to things. "It was fine."

Fine, actually, was not how he would refer to the events at Greensboro Elementary. But Sam didn't need to know that.

"Where's Bobby?" Dean continued, as he pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it onto a chair as he entered the kitchen to grab himself a drink. Pulling open the fridge door, Dean bent over to peer inside quizzically. He briefly considered swiping a beer, and would've even argued that 'It's 5 o'clock somewhere' if he had been caught, but he had to drive, and it was Bobby. He was already in enough hot water with the older man. He didn't need or want to dig a deeper grave for stealing a beer, and being underage too.

"He's outside in the yard." Sam answered, thumbing over his shoulder and watching as Dean grabbed a bottle water, unscrew the cap and take a long drink. "He told me earlier that Dad called."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. Dad should be home in the next couple days."

"Sounds good." Taking a chair, Dean flipped it around and sat down, pressing his chest against the back of the chair. "So. You decide what you wanted to do tonight?"

"I thought we agreed you didn't have to." Sam pointed out.

"And I thought we agreed that I wanted to make it up to you." Dean countered, motioning to him with the plastic bottle. "Besides, after the day I've had, I wanna go out."

Sam grinned. "With me. You wanna hang out with me."

Dean rolled his eyes again, and tried to fight the grin that threatened to cross his own face. Damn Sam's infectious grin. That little shit. He may say he didn't want Dean to treat him, but he sure as hell seemed to enjoy pushing Dean's buttons. Fine, two could play at that game.

"Yeah, yeah." He chuckled, taking a swig of water, before reaching over with his free hand and began to ruffle Sam's shaggy brown hair. The kid squirmed as he tried to push the blonde's hand away. That worked until Dean decided to wrap an arm around Sam's upper body and proceed to yank him over, Sam was a strong and fast kid, but Dean was stronger and faster. Curling the flat of his hand in Sam's hair into a fist, he Noogied Sam with his knuckles, ignoring his protests.

"Ugh, Dean! _Stop!_"

"What are you two idjits doing?"

Dean stopped and looked up to find the owner of the newest voice. "Hey, Bobby."

Sam took the moment to wiggle out of Dean's loosened grip, and a few steps away. Just to be on the safe side. Lifting a hand, he rubbed the crown of his head. Noogies weren't fun, and he definitely did not want to be Dean's victim again if his idiot brother decided he was in the mood for it. "Dean's being a jerk."

"Sam's being a bitch."

Bobby rolled his eyes, moving from the doorframe of the kitchen to the sink to wash the grease off his fingers, and grumbled something about them both being idjits. Once his hands were clean and dry, Bobby pulled a beer from the fridge and joined the boys at the table.

"And how was your day?" Bobby questioned. Casual, but Dean could tell that there was something else that Bobby obviously wanted to talk about. Privately.

"It was fine," Dean responded before looking to Sam. "Sammy, why don't you go get your stuff together?"

Sam could tell himself that both older men wanted him out of the kitchen, based alone on Dean's suggestion, and as much as he wanted to stay, he figured it wouldn't be the worth the hassle. That was one fight he wouldn't win. "Okay."

When Sam was safely upstairs and out of ear shot, his footsteps fading away only to be replaced by the silence of the old house, Bobby took a long pull of beer. Dean waited patiently for the older man to start speaking.

"Your dad called. Said he'll be home in a couple days."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sam told me." A pause. "He find out anything new about…?"

He trailed off, choosing not to finish that question. It was always a hard topic to discuss. Anything to do with his dad's job, or his mom's death was always a difficult and often unfriendly subject. At first, when Dean was growing up, it had been easier because all he had been told, and what he had told Sam, was that John was a cop. A police officer. A good guy who saves people. While that was mostly true, it wasn't until Dean was nine years old that he had been told the truth: John, specifically, was a Private Investigator and was looking into the fire that had burnt down their childhood home when Sam was only a baby, and had killed their mom. John had always suspected it was a case of arson, instead of the faulty electrical wiring that had been the cause. Or so, they had been told. In between looking up his own personal case, he would be hired to look into other private cases. Affairs, deaths, missing children – whatever the case may be. It was the reason why he was rarely home, and why they used to move around so much. At least the moving around thing had ended a couple years ago when Bobby put his foot down and argued that the boys needed _some_ kind of stability, and to plant roots in Beaumont, North Carolina. At least there, Bobby was close enough to keep an eye on the kids when John was gone.

"Not since last time." Bobby replied, before locking his gaze on Dean.

Dean pursed his lips together, but nodded anyways. No news was good news, right? He wasn't too sure if he could accept that arson was the cause for his mom's death. He wasn't sure if he could accept the fact that some sick bastard had set a house on fire, not caring about who lost their life, not caring that two children had been left motherless, a husband wifeless.

"Hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

Dean rolled the nearly-empty water bottle in his hands as he debated about how to ask what he wanted to ask. The question had been bothering him all week, and while he suspected he knew _why_, he wanted to hear it. To confirm that what he thought was true. "Why did you do it?"

Bobby quirked a dark, bushy brow. "What're you talking about?"

"Last week. Why did you get Sheriff Mills to drop the charges?"

"She didn't drop the charges." Bobby answered, lifting a hand to rub his bearded chin. "She put a stay on them, so long as you keep your head down and do what you're told." When his own dark eyes caught Dean's green ones, he took another pull of the cold alcohol. "You make mistakes. You need to clean 'em up. Jail wouldn't let you do that."

"Dad would've probably make me go." Dean mumbled. "You know he would've ripped me a new one and tossed me in the cell himself."

Bobby gave an deep gruff. "That daddy o' yours ain't here right now. Punishment fell to me. 'Sides, Dean, this'll be good for you." Resting his forearm on the table, Bobby leaned in from his position across the table. His already scruffy voice lowered, tone firm and serious. A warning to actually _listen _to what he was saying. "You need to start experiencing new things. Start spending time with other kinds of people. That brother o' yours upstairs may be a smart kid, but you know what they say. Monkey see, Monkey do."

Sitting back, Bobby gave him a final, hard look. "I got you this second chance, Dean. Don't blow it. There won't be a third."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So sorry about the delay in new chapters! Life got kind of busy! But here's a new one! Please don't forget to review! Even if it's to say that I suck. They make my day, knowing that people are at least reading.**

**Chapter 6**

Weeks went by slowly. So slowly that Dean actually looked forwards to the upcoming play. The curtains dropping after the end of the play didn't only mean that it was over for another year. It meant that Dean's responsibilities would end (at least for the drama department) and, aside from tutoring and cleaning for a few additional weeks, he would be a free man for the rest of the school year. And then summer would start and he would never have to worry about being a student ever again.

He had already decided he wasn't applying for college. School was not his thing. Sam loved it, the little geek, but school had never been and would never be his thing. Instead, he wanted to be a mechanic, get to work on cars back together all day. Piecing the car back together as if the parts were pieces of a very complicated jigsaw puzzle. That, he figured, was something you would learn by _doing_, not by sitting in a classroom with a hundred other people. Hell, he _had_ already learned how to fix cars. He didn't need a piece of paper that he spent thousands of dollars on to tell him that he was finally good enough.

For the time being, for the next two months though, his ass belonged to Beaumont High's teaching staff and the students of Greensboro Elementary.

Two months really couldn't come fast enough. Hell, the three weeks he had left until opening night couldn't come fast enough.

"Dean!"

Madison's voice cut into his thoughts and he snapped his attention to the pretty brunette staring him down. Actually, _glaring _would be more appropriate term to use. Her dark eyes were narrowed, a little wrinkle settling deep between her brows, lips pinched tightly together.

"Huh?"

"It's too late. I'm crazy about you." she repeated, the glare having disappeared. Instead, her facial expression had twisted into one of lust and desire. Her voice turned throaty and if Dean hadn't known that it was just her acting, he would've thought she was serious and extended an invitation to have her join him in the janitorial closet on the second floor.

Having been playing Janitor for the last couple weeks had taught him which closets were better than the ones he was used to using.

"Uh..." Dean started, and thought about what his line was supposed to be, and found himself drawing a blank. "Um."

Madison waited a couple more seconds before letting out a sigh of disgust and rolling her eyes. "Really?"

"Sorry," he apologized with a light shrug, desperately wishing he could at least use the script for now. Instead, he had ditched it in his chair in the auditorium at Ms Bradbury's insistence that they try without scripts.

"We've been working on this scene for over a week. It's like you're not even trying." She insisted, the angry glare back in place. "You might not want to be here, Dean, but the rest of us do. The rest of us are _actually_ taking this seriously."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, try learning your lines then," she countered before turning on her heel and stalking off to the piano to join Jamie, Derek the pianist and Ms Bradbury.

Dean watched Jamie rest her hands on the glossy top, her hair tied back in her usual ponytail. Today, she was wearing a pair of denim overalls with a white tee and her usual purple button-up sweater. The strains of what Dean recognized as the song she would sing to him later floated into his ear drums, accompanied by her soft voice. Dean had heard her sing before. She was in the town's church choir, and would sometimes sing one of the hymns solo. That was, _when _Dean made it to church. When he had dated Cassie, he had gone a couple times with her, and then once or twice with Sam and Bobby.

He watched for a couple more seconds before scrubbing a hand down his face. Two months _definitely _couldn't come fast enough.

When rehearsal was over, Dean took his time gathering his things. Normally, he would be one of the first people out of the auditorium, but since Madison had blown up at him, combined with Ms Bradbury's critical (and slightly unimpressed) looks and his stupid kid brother's teasing from the night before, Dean decided he needed help. Clearly, acting was something he wasn't good at and if anyone was going to help him (and wouldn't make fun of him while they were at it), it was going to be Jamie. This, he was sure of. The girl didn't have a hurtful bone in her body.

"Hey, Jamie."

The girl in question looked up with a smile at being addressed but it faded when she saw who stood before her. A look of apprehensiveness took over, green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Hi, Dean."

Dean offered her an easygoing smile. "How's it going?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Good, good." He gripped the strap of the black canvas backpack he had thrown onto his back with one hand. "Look, I, uh..."

He paused, trying to figure out how he wanted to word his request. If he got shot down, he was screwed. Sam had been no help, often laughing at how awkward and stiff Dean would speak or tease him about the Brooklyn accent he had demanded Dean use, and there was _no _way he was going to ask his friends for help either.

"Come on, Sammy. This is serious." Dean had complained. "Do you know I only have three weeks left to pull this off?"

"Dude, you wouldn't be able to pull this off if you had three months." Sam had retorted with a laugh. "Who do you think you are? Di Niro?"

Jamie, meanwhile, just stood there. Her own smaller hands were gripping the handles of her messenger bag, eyes on him as she waited. Finally, as if she had run out of patience, she eyed him with a wary look again. "What do you want, Dean? You've never been the first one to say hello."

"I, uh... I need help with my lines."

Thin brows rose in surprise. Jamie wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she was sure it wasn't that. "Dean Winchester is asking me for help?"

"Yeah." Dean confirmed, shifting once on his feet.

"Okay. I'll pray for you."

With that, she brushed past him and began to make her way up the aisle to the back auditorium doors.

"Jamie, wait-" Dean turned on his heel and quickly followed her.

Jamie turned around, the dark ponytail swinging lightly. "You've obviously never asked anybody for help before, right?"

Dean kept his lips pursed together, and refused to answer. He had been an independent person for as long as he could remember. He had practically raised him and Sam all by himself and the only times he had needed Bobby's help, he hadn't even asked. Bobby had just seemed to _know _when Dean was in trouble.

When Jamie didn't receive a response, she continued. "A request like yours requires flattery and groveling. It can't be about you. It has to be for the common good."

"It _is _for the common good." Dean insisted, locking his own green eyes with Jamie's. "Tommy deserves the best for writing a great play."

He paused for a brief moment, wondering if that had been enough to get Jamie to agree. Finally, he decided it wouldn't hurt if he tacked on a final request. "Please?"

The girl before him licked her lips in thought, eyes roaming over him, and when Dean was sure she would shoot him down, she surprised him. "Okay. On one condition, though."

He tilted his head. A condition? What was with people and tacking on conditions? Didn't anyone actually do anything just to be _nice_?

"What's that?"

"You have to promise you won't fall in love with me."

Dean quirked his brows and huffed out a laugh. Surely, that had to have been a joke, because he was laughing.

"That's, uh... that's not a problem." He agreed with a big grin.

"Okay," Jamie confirmed, no laughter or amusement in her eyes, making Dean realize she had actually been serious about that request. "I'll see you tomorrow after school."

* * *

><p>"Dean Winchester is coming here?"<p>

Jamie nodded as she stood at the stove the next afternoon, stirring in some carrots for the beef stew she had been putting together. "Yes, daddy."

"He's dangerous and careless. The worst kind of person-"

"Daddy, what about forgiveness?" She cut in, looking up to look at her father. Standing opposite of her, with a mug of tea in one hand, she met his hazel eyes, lined with crows feet at the corners. "I thought we had discussed that I would decide how I wanted to spend my time and my life."

"It's him I don't trust, not you." He insisted, lifting his free hand to rub the balding crown and then through the graying hair that had once been a dark brown.

Jamie opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it closed when a doorbell rang throughout the house. She excused herself to answer the door, smiling at her visitor.

"You gonna keep me out here all afternoon?" Dean teased lightly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of worn jeans, his script rolled up and pushed into his back pocket.

"Come on in," she offered, moving to stand out of the way. Dean stepped over the threshold and into the older two-story house, following Jamie into the living room. "My script is in my room. I'll be right down. Make yourself at home."

Dean nodded his thanks and muttered "Not likely" once she had disappeared up the winding staircase. Aside from a floral sofa and matching chair, the room had a small piano, a dark oak coffee table littered with magazines and a scenic painting of a lighthouse hanging above the fireplace. All in all, it was a room that seemed like the background for a B-rated horror movie.

Moving closer to the fireplace, he eyed the couple photo frames set up there. A photo in black and white, and obviously old, showed a woman with a young girl. Both wore bright smiles, and silver crosses around their necks. Not that he was an expert, but he could make an educated guess that the little girl would've been Jamie as a child, and the woman was most likely her mother, or someone of equal importance.

Moving on, he studied the figurine next to the frame. Made of porcelain, with eyes much too large and a mouth too long for the face, it's dark hair cascaded down it's back. If Dean were honest, there was something about it that gave him the creeps.

"That is one scary looking-" Dean started to mumble to himself, turning on his heel to see if Jamie had returned. Instead, he started, having been caught off guard. "Jesus!"

Standing in the archway of the living room was an older man that Dean recognized as Zachariah Marsden, one of the town's Reverends. The man was dressed in dark slacks, and a khaki coloured button up dress shirt, a Bible held in his hands.

"No, Jamie's father." the man corrected and took a step forward, his hazel eyes still locked onto Dean, the man's lips twitching into a small smirk. "Hello, Mister Winchester. I understand you're the lead in the play. Congratulations."

"Thanks for letting me come over and run lines, Reverend."

"I didn't let you." Zachariah answered, and while his tone wasn't clipped, Dean could tell the man meant business when he spoke. "Let's just get one thing straight, Mister Winchester." He let that settle, pinning Dean with a look that made the younger man tense up. "You think that on Sundays, I don't see you from where I stand. But I see you."

Zachariah turned lightly on his heel, motioning to a closed door just off the living room with his hand. "I'll be in my office. Just here."

Dean was saved from replying to that as Jamie's footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.

"Ready?" she asked, directing her question to Dean as she re-entered the living room.

"Yeah, let's go." Dean breathed out, definitely needing some air. For an older guy, Zachariah seemed a lot more threatening and scary than he would normally give him credit for.

* * *

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